


Necessity

by dragonflybeach



Series: The Missing Moments [50]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Pre-Series, Teacher/Student
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 07:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1042304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonflybeach/pseuds/dragonflybeach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's teacher hires him to do things for her at home. Things her husband would do, if she had one. </p><p>Dean's POV of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/837469">Whatever I Have to Do</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Necessity

Dad's phone call was short and to the point.

"Well, I've determined that the spirit is attached to something, but I don't know what it is, so I'm gonna be here at least a few more days. You and Sam are ok, right?"

"Yeah, sure, of course, Dad." Dean answered, because he knew that was what Dad expected.

"I know I can count on you." Dad replied before reminding him to lock the doors and check the salt lines and watch out for Sammy.

Sam and his big mouth were the reason the brothers were in this situation. When Dad had been getting ready to leave, he had counted the money on hand three times before saying "Maybe I'm gonna wait another day or two before I leave."

"Dean can make some money while you're gone," Sam had piped up. "He can work for Miss Newman again."

"Who's Miss Newman and what are you doing for her?" Dad demanded, eyes narrowed.

"She's his math teacher and she paid him to do some work at her house last time you were gone longer than you thought and we ran out of money." Sam offered.

"What kind of work did you do?" Dad asked, his features relaxing slightly.

"The kind of stuff her  _husband_  would do, if she had one." Dean glared at Sam.

"Good," Dad nodded. "I'm proud of you. I know I can always count on you to take care of Sam."

And Dean forgot to be mad at Sam for a while, because Dad said he was proud.

But that was a week ago, when Dad left them with even less money than usual, and now, they had just eaten the last of the groceries, which had mostly been ramen noodles and cheap hot dogs.

And then there was the fact that it was supposed to snow later this week and both boys desperately needed socks with more cloth than holes.

Dean hung up the phone and leaned his head against the wall, knowing what he had to do. He didn't have time to wait for her to ask him to see her after class. He was going to have to go to  _her_  instead of waiting for her to come to him.

He put Sam to bed and waited until he was positive that his little brother was deeply asleep before slipping out of the room. He didn't want to have to explain what he was going to get or why.

He walked down the block to the topless bar, and hung around the alley next to the back door until someone came out to dump trash. He slipped in quietly, made his way down the hallway to the men's room, and pocketed a handful of free condoms from the bowl on the counter.

It wasn't that he didn't trust Adrienne, it was just that, well, yeah, he didn't trust her.

The barback looked at him suspiciously when they passed one another on the way back out, but Dean had already figured out that the guy didn't speak English and probably wasn't in the country legally, so he wasn't going to make trouble for anyone that would draw attention to himself.

Dean checked the ground outside the drive thru windows at Burger King, McDonald's, and Wendy's for dropped change on the way back to the motel, and found almost two dollars. He let himself back into the room, thankful to find Sam still asleep.

He took off his jacket and shoes as quietly as possible, stretching out on the other bed since Dad was gone. After a moment, he got back up and laid out clothes for both himself and Sammy, making a note that they were going to have to do laundry as soon as possible.

The next morning, he tugged Sam out the door a few minutes early, truthfully telling his brother that he needed to speak to Miss Newman before school. He dropped Sam off at the middle school on his way to the high school across the street.

He smiled and sweet talked his way past the vice principal on bus duty, telling her that he really needed to talk to his algebra teacher about something he didn't understand on his assignment. She seemed so thrilled that he was actually showing an interest in his grades that she let him into the main part of the school without argument.

He took a moment to take a deep breath and steady himself before walking into her classroom.

"Hey," the smile on her face barely covered the uneasiness in her eyes. "What are you doing here?"

He walked up to kneel right beside her and speak softly. "I came by to see what you were doing tonight."

She dipped her head down and looked up at him through her eyelashes. "Probably just grading some papers. What are you doing tonight?"

"You, if you'll let me." He grinned at her.

She frowned for a moment. "It's Wednesday."

He shrugged. "You got a curfew tonight?"

"No, but I don't get paid until Friday." she answered.

Suddenly it all made sense why she approached him on Fridays, why she asked him over to her place over the weekend. It wasn't just about having more free time.

"Oh, um, yeah," he nodded, standing and backing away. "No, that's fine, maybe if you're not busy this weekend ... " He hurried toward the door.

"Dean."

He froze with his hand on the doorknob.

"How long has your dad been gone?" she asked softly.

"A week," he sighed. "Not sure when he's gonna be back."

"How much do you need?" she pressed.

"Um, it's ... nevermind, forget it." He started to open the door.

"Would $40 get you and Sam through for a few days?" she offered. "I can come up with that much."

"It ... no." He shook his head. "It's fine. We don't need charity."

He jumped when he felt her hands at the sides of his waist. "It won't be charity." She whispered in his ear. Her hands moved forward, cupping his hipbones through his jeans, before the left one slid lower, to ghost over his fly. "I'm gonna make you earn it."

He swallowed and nodded. "Right after school?"

The hoarseness in his voice surprised him.

"I have to hang around here for half an hour." she answered, her hands moving backwards to rest on the curve of his ass. "Take Sam home and I'll pick you up there."

He nodded again, and felt her mouth on the side of his neck.

"Now we've both got to sit through six classes thinking about tonight." she purred. "Get out of here before I make you get started now."

"Later," he muttered and rushed out the door as soon as she let go.

The halls were starting to fill up. He shoved his way through to the bathroom, where he bought a cigarette from a senior for a dollar of his drive thru change and locked himself in a stall to smoke it.

Forty bucks was good. Actually, it was great. It should keep them in food until Dad got back and give them enough to do laundry. He had been hoping for a little more, to buy new socks and maybe gloves, but there was always Salvation Army and he would just make sure to set aside a dollar to buy a bottle of ammonia to get the funky smell out of the socks.

And it was a school night, which meant Adrienne couldn't keep him there eight hours like she had last time. At least he hoped she couldn't. He would just tell her that he had to get Sam to bed, and hope she wouldn't take part of the money back.

She wasn't bad. Really, it could be a lot worse. She wasn't that old, just 31, and she wasn't hideous, just kind of plain and just a little pudgy, enough to give her curves in all the right places and a few extra. Besides, like he had heard Caleb tell Dad once, "All cats are black in the dark."

He just wished it didn't feel so much like he didn't have choice.

The first bell rang, so he stood, threw the cigarette butt in the toilet, and straightened his clothes before opening the door.

He  _did_  have a choice, he told himself.

He could choose to do this, or he could choose to let Sammy go hungry.

He made it through the day by forcing himself not to think about what was going to happen later. He met Sam at the middle school. They stopped at a gas station on the way back to the motel. Little Debbies were now 30c each instead of four for a dollar, but they picked up an oatmeal pie and a nutty bar for Sam and Swiss rolls for Dean. Dean told Sam he could eat one now, and save the other for later, in case Dean was later getting home than he planned.

Sam wanted to come along, said he could help. Dean didn't mean to snap at him, but Sam got the point. He dropped the subject and opened his science book.

Warnings were repeated. Keep the door locked. Don't open it unless you know it's me. Don't answer the phone unless it's me or Dad. Check the salt lines. Don't leave the room. Get your homework done.

Dean watched out the window and slipped out the door as soon as Adrienne's car pulled into the parking lot. The need to keep this woman as far from Sammy as possible was as instinctual as breathing.

She pulled up, not bothering to turn into a parking space, and got out, leaving the driver's door open. He obediently walked to the car, consciously not flinching as her hand dragged across his ass as she walked past him to get in the passenger side.

He got behind the wheel, waiting until she closed the door on her side, waiting for her to lean over the console, grab his arm, and tug him over for a quick kiss. He probably should be thankful it was a Honda Civic with a straight drive transmission and bucket seats. If they had been in the Imapala, she probably would have been pressed up against his side and holding his hand.

She always wanted him to drive, wanted to act like they were on a freaking date or something, even though there would not be a dinner or a movie or anything but just going to her place to fuck. She wasn't risking her teaching certificate to be seen in public with him, and it wasn't like her two cats were going to tell anyone what they did in her bedroom.

He pulled up in front of her apartment, and followed her inside.

"You got anything to drink?" he asked.

"Fridge." She tipped her head toward the kitchen.

He turned up his nose at the Diet Cokes, frowning at the beer in cans because apparently women as a whole just didn't understand that beer was better in bottles. He grabbed a can of Bud Light anyway, popping it open and taking a sip before he walked back toward the living room.

She wasn't there. He hesitated a moment, knowing he should head to the bedroom, knowing that she had already gone in there, but his legs just didn't obey his brain. He took another swig of the beer before she appeared in the doorway in a red lace bra and panties.

She smirked at him, walked across the room, and took the beer from his hand. She took a drink and handed it back.

"Should have known better than to let you get your own." she winked at him, then took his hand, leading him to the bedroom.

"Maybe I should take a shower," he suggested. "I had gym fifth period."

"Nothing wrong with a little sweat," she purred in his ear, her hand gripping the side of his waist. "Do you know how hot I've been all day thinking about getting you back here this afternoon? Do you know how wet I've been all day?"

"Maybe I should cool you off," he teased, then brushed the cold beer can over one of her nipples, the condensation dampening the fabric of her bra.

She gasped, and he bent his knees, lowering his head to take the lace covered breast into his mouth.

"Keep doing that kind of stuff and you can have all the beer you want," she promised.

Four hours later, he only had one condom left, and was mostly dozing when the clock in her living room chimed eight times.

"Gotta get home," he groaned. "Gotta get Sam's dinner and bath and get him ready for bed."

She started the shower for him and then followed him in, pushing him to his knees, drawing her thumb across his lips, and demanding one more before he hit the road. He did what she asked, and was grateful he didn't even have to pretend to be to tired to get it up again.

She threw on sweats while he dressed, pressing against his back while he buttoned his shirt and whispering that she would have no trouble sleeping tonight and regrets that he couldn't stay to take care of her before school in the morning. She reached around him and slipped the $40 into his front pocket.

When he was ready, he turned to face her. "Can I have another beer?"

Something in her face softened, and she looked sad for a moment. She went to the kitchen, and returned with an unopened six pack in a bag.

"Here," she offered.

"Thanks," he muttered with a nod, and followed her out to the car.

"Damn, it's late," he commented more to himself as the car started and the clock lit up on the dash.

"Swing by Biggerson's," she instructed.

He glanced over at her.

"I'll buy you and Sam dinner." she replied, looking out the windshield rather than at him. "It's pretty late. If I just drop you off and you end up going to the store for food, Sam would probably be asleep by the time you had anything ready."

"Thanks," he said softly.

"It's cool," she shrugged, now looking at her hands.

He fished his cell out of his jacket pocket and pressed the first speed dial key to get Sam's order, which took more conversation than it should have, because Sam felt the need to debate everything lately.

"Fish dinner, mac and che, slaw, and something green," he repeated back as he turned into the resturaunt parking lot. "Ok, see ya in a few, Sammy. Don't open the door until I knock."

As he pulled into a parking space and turned off the ignition, her hand closed over his on the gearshift, her thumb brushing across his knuckles.

"You're good with him," she murmured. "If you were older, I would tell you that you would make a great dad."

"Just _don't_ ," he snapped, yanking his hand away and opening the car door.

Biggerson's was always quick about getting your food, probably because it was all sitting back there under warming lights all day long, but at least it was somewhat freshly cooked and not something room temperature that had been in a can for the past two years. With all the stuff they ate out of a microwave it was a wonder Sam didn't glow in the dark.

Adrienne paid for their meals and picked up the takeout boxes, while Dean held open the door like a good fake boyfriend.

It had been dark for a good two hours and the hookers were already under the streetlights at the corner when he turned right to go to the motel. It hit him that he was one of them, not walking the streets and picking up strangers in cars, but negotiating his price and selling his body just the same.

He suddenly felt dirty, and very old.

He pulled into the parking space in front of their motel room. She leaned across the console to peck him on the lips, and handed him the styrofoam containers and six pack.

"I gotta go to a bridal shower Saturday." she told him breathily. "But maybe you can come over  
Sunday. I'll buy some more beer before then." She smirked and brought his hand to her face, sucking his index finger into her mouth.

He was busy watching the window, hoping and praying Sammy didn't pull back the curtain. "See ya at school tomorrow." he answered non-committally as he opened the door.

He knocked twice, paused, and knocked twice again so he didn't open the door to a gun. Balancing the takeout boxes with one hand and his chest, he dug the room key from his pocket and unlocked the door.

Sam unhooked the chain and reached for the food. Dean turned and waved so Adrienne would just fucking  _leave_  already instead of watching him like some creepy stalker.

Sam's face was lit up like someone had given the kid a million dollars, babbling about the food and grinning at Dean like he was the greatest brother ever.

Dean whirled away, stomping across the room to put the beer in the fridge and slamming the bathroom door behind him, suddenly feeling that if he stood there one more moment his filth was going to rub off on sweet little Sam who was so fucking  _happy_  over steamed broccoli.

He turned the water in the shower as hot as he could stand and scrubbed himself until his skin felt red and raw and he was actually bleeding in a few spots. Every time he felt a wet droplet roll down his face, he turned into the water so he could tell himself it was the shower. It wasn't like there was anything to cry about. He had just spent four hours having sex with a woman. Ninety percent of the guys in his grade would trade their left nut for that. He had dinner waiting and cold beer and money to go shopping tomorrow.

There was a soft tap at the door and Sam asked "Dean? You ok?"

He leaned his head against the wall, feeling so old and tired. "Yeah, I'll be out in a few."

He turned the water over to cold, using the shock of the temperature change to get hold of himself. He was acting like a baby.

He opened the door just long enough to grab his bag and see that Sam was eating. He rushed back into the bathroom before Sam could get a good look at him.

Yeah, it was ridiculous, but he dressed in a long sleeved shirt and long pants because he couldn't help the feeling that if Sam could see his skin, that Sam would know what Dean had been doing.

That Sam would be disgusted with him.

Sam looked up and frowned when Dean finally emerged. "Are you cold? We could turn the heat up."

"No, it's fine." Dean shook his head as he sat down and reached for his food.

It was the first decent meal they had in a week, other than school food, and it was roast beef and mashed potatoes, normally Dean's favorite meal from Biggerson's.

Tonight, it all tasted like sawdust. He forced himself to eat a few bites, but he mostly pushed his food around, hoping Sam didn't notice.

"Dad called." Sam announced. "He finally figured out what the spirit was attached to. There was a scrapbook with a lock of hair in it. He burned it, and he's going to stay over tonight just to make sure it's gone. If it is, then he'll head back in the morning. It's only two days drive. He'll be back by the end of the week."

Which meant, gee darn, Dad would probably be around so Dean wouldn't be able to go to Adrienne's on Sunday.

But Sam wasn't finished. "So how much did Miss Newman pay you?

He knew Sam didn't know anything, didn't mean anything by the question, but that didn't stop all the humiliation and condemnation from slamming into him.

Dean shoved his food aside and ran back to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before his dinner made its reappearance.

Sam followed him.

"Dean?"

And then there was a hand on Dean's shoulder.

It was quickly shoved off. "Don't touch me." Dean growled, knowing that he was being irrational, but unable to bring himself to stop.

He covered his face with both hands, ashamed of treating Sam like that, Sam who hadn't done anything wrong.

Sam wasn't the whore in the family.

Sam got a washcloth and wet it, handing it to Dean, then filled a disposable cup halfway with water so Dean could rinse his mouth.

Dean sat back against the tub, staring at his hands, trying to force his mouth to work, to apologize to Sammy.

"Maybe you just got overheated." Sam suggested. "You know, working at Miss Newman's house, and then coming back here taking a hot shower and all. I'll put your food in the fridge and maybe you can finish it later."

Dean nodded, thankful that he knew he didn't have to apologize to Sam, even if he should.

Sam wandered off. Dean sat there a few more minutes until he pulled himself together enough to go back into the main room.

Dean came out of the bathroom a few minutes later. Sam was sprawled out on the bed with a book. He glanced up but didn't speak. Dean grabbed a beer out of the fridge, flopped down on the bed by the door and flipped on the tv. He scrolled through channels until he found The Blues Brothers.

Sam was still watching him silently.

"She gave me $40, plus bought our dinner tonight." Dean finally answered, surprised at how nonchalant he sounded. "I figured we can go get some tv dinners or something after school tomorrow. Won't be able to buy much because we don't have room to keep it." Dean said, staring blankly at the tv.

"I wish this room had a stove so we could cook bacon and eggs. The school's breakfasts suck." Sam grumbled.

"Maybe when Dad gets back we can move on." Dean shrugged, knowing even as he said it that it wouldn't happen.

This place was dirt cheap by the week, and relatively clean and safe compared to some places they'd stayed. The schools were pretty good, and so far no one had payed attention enough to ask too many questions. And they didn't usually move this close to Christmas unless they had to.

"Nah, he said we would be here a little longer. Money's always tight around Christmas." Sam came over to sit on the edge of the same bed.

Dean didn't answer, just put the remote on the nightstand and wrapped his arms around himself, for once uncomfortable being the object of Sam's attention.

He nearly crawled out of his skin waiting for Sam to speak, because he obviously hadn't come over here for nothing.

"Hey Dean," Sam began, and then waited for Dean to show he was paying attention.

Dean barely glanced his way, then looked away again.

"Maybe I can do some stuff for one of my teachers." Sam offered. "I mean, you … "

Panic seized him in that moment, and before he knew what he was doing, Dean was across the bed with a handful of Sam's shirt.

"No, Sammy," he snapped. "You don't ever go off anywhere alone with a teacher, do you understand me? Promise me you won't. Say it right now."

"I promise, Dean." Sam's eyes went wide.

Dean let go of his brother's shirt and scooted back, realizing that he'd probably scared Sam as much as he had scared himself. He couldn't meet the child's gaze. "Not all teachers are nice people, Sam."

"But Miss Newman is cool!" Sam argued. "She lets you call her Adrienne when you're away from school, she buys you beer, she lets you drive her car, and she pays you for doing work at her house."

Dean drained the beer and put the bottle on the nightstand with an unsteady hand, knowing that he could never say that words to tell Sam what kind of person she was. "Yeah. She's pretty cool. I guess. But there's some teachers … some of them would call Child Protective Services if they found out how much Dad leaves us alone. And some of them ... just ... I mean it Sam, you stay away from teachers, you don't tell them anything, if they ask you anything, you deny it, and you don't ever go off alone with them."

"I already promised." Sam scrunched his face.

"Good." Dean huffed. "Now talk about something else."

 _Anything else, please,_  he thought to himself.

Sam rambled on about the book he was reading. Dean nodded a few times, but his mind kept wandering back to what happened earlier at Adrienne's apartment, no matter how much he tried to block it out.

He wondered if they would have just been better off if he had refused what Miss Newman offered when she caught him stealing, because he was well and truly screwed now, no pun intended. If he tried to refuse her at this point, she could scream rape, and who would believe the kid with a juvenile record who had been in five schools in the past year? He shook his head, telling himself he was stupid. She would have let the school call the cops, and they would have taken Sam away.

Sam wasn't talking any more, but he didn't appear to be waiting for an answer, so Dean just nodded vaguely and got another beer.

He put Sam to bed at 10, and laid in his own bed, watching the patterns made by the lights from passing cars on the ceiling.

At some point, he got up and walked over to the window. One of the hookers was following a truck driver toward a room further down the building.

Dean wondered if she had someone at home she did this for, a kid or something.

He mentally shook himself. It was almost midnight, and they had school tomorrow. He needed some sleep.

He walked over a got another beer, and then back across the room to the bottom drawer of the dresser. Dad hadn't left any good whiskey this time, just the cheap stuff that was more likely to end up poured over a wound than into a cup. Still, maybe it would be enough to take the edge off so he could sleep.

He poured what he figured was two shots' worth into one of the disposable cups provided by the motel and managed to choke it down, chasing it with a mouthful of beer.

He knew, as he crept back to his own bed, that Sam was awake and watching him.

He laid down and turned his back, hoping the kid would just go back to sleep.

Part of him wished they were still younger, that he could crawl in bed with Sam and pretend it was for Sam's sake, that he was there to keep his little brother from being scared.

But Dad kept telling him that he was making Sam soft, and there were too many things out there, so many things Sam needed to be tough to protect himself against, if Dean ever failed and couldn't protect him.

Besides, if they were younger, this  _thing_  with Adrienne wouldn't be going on.

And if Sam knew what Dean was, Sam would never let Dean touch him.

Sam deserved so much better than this. He deserved someone who was smart enough or talented enough to be able to earn enough money to take care of him properly, not to feed him hot dogs and ramen noodles and give him socks that someone else got rid of.

Maybe Sam would have been better off if they had taken him away.

He barely managed to choke down the sob that forced its way out unbidden.

He was turning into such a fucking  _girl,_  crying twice in less than a day.

He froze when he felt the bed shift, and a moment later there was a hand on his shoulder.

"Go back to sleep, Sammy," he whispered.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered back. "I'm sorry you have to take care of me all the time."

Of course Sam would think it was his fault. The kid blamed himself for everything that had gone wrong on the planet since 1983.

"No, Sammy," Dean sighed. "It's not that. I'd do anything for you. You know that."

"I do know." Sam answered. "But it's Dad's job. You shouldn't have to. You shouldn't have to worry about whether we have enough food or go work for somebody to get enough money to take care of us until Dad comes back."

As much as Dean wanted nothing more at that moment than for Dad to come home and be the adult so he didn't have to, it was ingrained into his subconscious to defend the man.

"Dad has an important job." Dean answered. "He saves people. And he didn't know he would be gone this long. He thought he was just going to salt and burn some bones and he would be back in a few days."

"He almost never gets back when he says he's going to," Sam grumbled.

"And besides, I'll be 16 in two months. I'll be old enough to go out and get a job." Dean insisted. "It's fine. I mean, it's not like Miss Newman is asking be to do anything really hard or whatever."

"You don't like going over there." Sam said knowingly.

"Just forget about it, Sam." Dean huffed, because he was so not going to have this conversation with a sixth grader.

Sam however, was like a freaking dog with a bone and he just wouldn't stop.

"Do you think she's going to call the police?" Sam asked. "And tell them Dad leaves us alone?"

"No," Dean sighed. "She won't ever call the police."

"She might," Sam argued. "If she got mad at you or something."

"No," Dean snorted. "She can't ever call the police about us. I can get her in more trouble than we would be in."

"Because she knew and didn't tell right away?" Sam pressed.

"Just go to sleep, Sam," Dean groaned.

"I'm going to get a good job one day." Sam continued. "I'm going to make a lot of money and I'm going to take care of you, and I'm going to buy us a house where we can stay all the time. I'll do whatever I have to, so I can take care of you like you take care of me. I promise."

Dean bit his lip to keep from crying again, and didn't answer.

Sam finally decided to shut up and go back to sleep. He pressed himself up against Dean's back and threw his arm over his older brother's waist.

Dean closed his eyes, absorbing the familiar warmth of Sam against him, and willed himself to think about army men in the backseat and sunshine on the field behind Pastor Jim's church and a world where it was just him and Sammy and Dad and Adrienne Newman couldn't touch him.

 

**Author's Note:**

> It was just a one shot. It wasn't supposed to turn into a verse. 
> 
> But people kept suggesting ideas to continue or expand the story and the freaking plot bunny just wouldn't die. 
> 
> And yes, there's going to be a John edition.


End file.
